


The Choices We've Made

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-15 16:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Noctis had never thought he would see Ignis again after he was rushed from Tenebrae.





	1. Under the Trees

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a standalone for Ignoct Week over at Tumblr, but sort of just spiralled into its own thing.

The first time Noctis had ever been to Tenebrae, he had no recollection of the arrival. He had been trapped in his own dreams, running from the monsters and nightmares that left him breathless and broken until he stumbled across his own dreamscape and into an unfamiliar forest. Later, it was theorised that the smells of Tenebrae— the airy trees and lush greens, the perfume of flowers hanging in every room and window— had influenced his dreams then, and the stories of the little creature named Carbuncle had reached him as he healed. 

When he first arrived in Tenebrae, he wasn’t introduced in a flurry of attention and talk and pleasantries, he was rushed to a secluded room in the royal family’s home. The gods were called to his side to save his life and rid his small body of the Scourge it was developing— or so Luna had said— and the fairytales called him back from the nightmares that had tried to keep him trapped and hurt. He could recall the visits— the great form of Titan peering at him as he braved a strange canyon, slipping on the wet stones; the serpentine Leviathan as she shook a lake from her scales and called out an order to follow her to the portal Carbuncle had been searching for— even afterwards, and wondered if he had only dreamed the gods because their stories had been read to him as he slept.

When he woke up, that’s when the introductions started. 

Lunafreya would sit with him for hours, books in hand and stories pouring from her lips. She would tell him about gods and wars and the history of Lucis. She’d show him the words that were meant to go with the ancient paintings of stern-faced, long dead kings that still covered the Citadel Halls of History. She told him stories of the Astrals and the Crystal and his father’s importance in the safety of Eos. She’s read him prophecies and legends and talk with him until he had run out of questions about the exciting adventures of his ancestors. 

Around them, the shadows of leaves and flowers strung from windows or climbing with the ivies across the white halls of the strange palace would dance in the bright light. The days would be filled with wind and birdsong and the sort of shadows that beckoned Noct to the great arch of the windows rather than send him scurrying for the covers. 

Luna laughed over sweets with him, and presented berries and fizzing drinks not made with the gifts of the Crown City. She showed him simple games and told him more stories than he thought could exist in the world. 

But he remembered the shadow that followed her. 

Not the strange woman who spoke softly and seemed to only appear and disappear as she pleased, or even the dogs that seemed to age and change in whatever manner best suited the day (Noct preferred the dogs, if he was honest). But there was a boy, just a year or two younger than Luna, who followed her like a shadow in the white halls. 

The son of an attendant to the Queen and Oracle, the boy had taken time to warm up to Noct (or so he thought). 

And when Luna had been called away for lessons or errands or important things that left Noct alone and bound to the wheelchair in his rooms, the boy was often there to keep him company. 

“Ignis Scientia, your highness.”

“Ignis,” Noct would repeat carefully, still stumbling over the flurry of new names at first. Shy in facing these strangers alone without his father to shield him and prompt him into his manners. “Nice to meet you.”

Where Luna had known about the gods and the world, this boy had known about the fairytales. He had different books to bring to Noct as he healed, with softer pictures and kinder words. He had smiled as he read the stories of Noct’s new dream-friend, and told him about all the omens Carbuncle represented. Ignis told him about far off lands, like Accordo and Niflheim, where Luna had only told him about Solheim and Lucis. With Ignis’ company, he learnt about immortal wanderers who helped give the gods voices, and the ancient wars that scattered the fairytale creatures across the world. He spoke of the forests of Galahd and the mountains cut through with rivers, and the soft depths of the green Tenebrean canyons with their shadows and fey. 

Luna told him about all the prophecies she knew. 

Ignis told him about all the possibilities ahead. 

“Have you seen them?”

“No, not yet, your highness,” Ignis smiled as he said that, and turned a page to the image of an adventurer climbing the steep, dusty mountains of Cavaugh. “But I would like to.”

“Me too.” Noct leaned in closer to examine the image then, across Ignis’ lap to see the promise of adventures and legends in the words. “I want to see everything.”

“Maybe you can, one day.”

“You’d have to come with me.”

“I’d like to, your highness.”

They had stayed like that for hours at a time during Noct’s slow recovery, his pain eased by distraction. They planned adventures and travels, and far off places they would see together. 

When the Imperials attacked— slipping into the peace of the forest palace, Noct had only been able to cling to his father as they ran. He could only hear Ravus’ pleas above the chaos, and he saw his new friends taken by the enemy soldiers, engulfed in the smoke as the MT armies razed the palace and peace around them.


	2. Masks

Altissia was famous for the parties and the dancing and the romantic notions that came with them. For the sparkling lights reflected on waters so still the gondolas appears to skate across the surface of a mirror. For the narrow walkways and secluded corners— usually occupied by lovers— and the wide plazas open to the sea salt airs. Once a year, every plaza was filled. Music blanketed the city in a cacophony of rival events. The main plaza, high above most of the city, where the statue of Leviathan twisted up through its anchoring fountain, was where the main event was held. It was where the career politicians and the media gathered with the literal upper cuts of Altissean society. Where the foreign visitors from across Eos danced and paraded themselves in their costumes; faces hidden by strange masks, but all too recognisable by their colours and airs. Where, for at least an evening, the rivalries were set aside in the spirit of revelry. 

The city lights warmed the night sky and drowned out the stars, as the figures would move in a set pattern across the coloured stones. Their steps were light and practised with all the decorum afforded to their stations; the familiar music guiding them through set paths with set partners determined by what was acceptable beneath the false stars. Soft material spiralling out in layers of dresses and suit coats, themed and matched and decorated with more finery than most people in the lower plazas saw in their lifetime. Designers were celebrated and talked about; cuts and colours fawned over as identities were revealed; scandals uncovered in the darkened archways of the First Secretary’s hosting estate or beneath the awnings tucked down one of the labyrinthine alleyways. The air was heavy with the buzz of the party and the countdown it represented, voices raised with the music as staff rushed between the colourful guests like ghosts, carrying plates and trays in a constant rotation of rich delicacies and temptations. 

Noctis could see the smaller events from the vantage of the main plaza. He could see, even from the distance he was, the lights and tables in the smaller neighbourhoods below; the fires burned bright and the people furthest from the city centre danced to their own beats like heathens in ritual. Or at least that’s how he had heard it described, the chaos of the parties far from the glitter of the hosting main plaza. He could see the restaurants not too far off decorated in streamers and confetti and head the music blared from speakers fighting with the band for attention. He could see people moving, their own costumes dull in comparison to the designers taking the show above. He could see the quick movements of less practised dances, and the revelry was practically palatable in the air; the energy infectious. 

He had gone in his father’s place, King Regis “too old for these sort of things” as he insisted. He had gone to maintain the good relations, to show the Empire that Lucis was still well enough to enter their provinces unchallenged. To stroll through the armies of men and women who had once openly wanted him dead— who still had little hesitation to voicing that same opinion outside of polite company and the hearing of his Shield. To smile and stand unbowed against the Empire and its constant threat and posturing. 

To have a good time. 

He had gone with Gladio, who skulked in the shadows with the staff. His costume traded for his uniform, and his expression one of alert boredom, eyes tracing the lines of every costumed politician and guests who dared to approach Noct. His arms crossed as he leaned back against stone pillars wrapped in streamers, a dark shadow at the party of glitter and lights. 

“Don’t run off,” Gladio had warned when they were getting ready, hands moving over Noct’s tie and the lines of his suit as they fussed in the hotel room they had been gifted for the stay. It was tailored to him, the heavy fabric to fend off the cold of the night carrying the spells and magics of Lucis to help protect him from any threat posed. The soft black of the material already threatening to attract every speck of dust and lint with every movement. “Stay where I can see you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” was always Noct’s reply, swatting away the hands of his friend and Shield as the final touches were on and he was deemed presentable. Before he was considered dressed well enough, defiant enough, to appear at a party hosted by politicians attempting to play both sides of an endless war.

He was in Lucian blacks and greys, the embroidery of the suit shining beneath the dazzling lights— a touch of fantasy to the curls and coils and details, the length of every stitch imbued with the protective magics Noct could practically taste in the air around him. Warding off threats and dangerous attentions alike, letting unfriendly eyes ghost over him. And from where he was— watching the smaller parties and events in the streets and plazas and crossing the canals below, elbows rested on the low stone barrier— he could sense almost nothing else. 

He wished he could have brought Prompto. Photography would have been an excellent excuse to wander off.

“A cat?”

The voice cut through the music as the current song lurched to a close and finished in a round of applause as the dancers paused in a twirl of colour and fabric and chatter. 

The mask has been set carefully— a match in colours to the suit, the same curl of silver and golds winding across the delicate black fabric base— just before arriving at the party. Half of his face covered by the thing, tied by dark ribbons lost in his hair; the delicate ears seeming to peek above the carefully cultivated style hardly unique in the Crown City nowadays. 

He looked the man who had addressed him over, and raised an eyebrow though he knew it wouldn’t be seen. The man was taller, almost Gladio’s height, the feline shape to his own mask made of a sturdy painted fabric rather than the porcelain of the other Altissean nobles. the ears were longer and tufted, a flair of tattered fabric for a ruff, spotted and painted in a house’s colours not native to the hosting city— streaks of royal purples staining the crisp Imperial whites. 

“And you’re a coeurl?”

“A little out of season, I know,” the man answered, his smile visible beneath the edge of his mask, the pointed look to the feline features sharp and crisp compared to Noct’s own mask. The shift in his posture more relaxed than Noct thought he had any right to feel among the crowd. 

Noct paused, the green eyes beneath the strange purple tinges to the man’s outfit familiar. “You’re from Tenebrae.”

He meant it to be a question, a conversational piece to place the accent, not the statement it came out as. The man nodded; “Yes. Accompanying the prince.”

“High Commander, you mean.”

He had seen Ravus in the crowd with the Niflheim nobility; the Tenebrean unicorn an obvious mark in the crowd even from the distance; the spiral of defiant siver, as delicate and glittering as the steel sword the man was known to carry, cut short above the darkened eyes of the full faced mask. Just another white coat in the crowd of Imperial allies, only touched by the royal purples of his conquered kingdom rather than the proud reds of the conqueror. Noct preferred his own subtle Lucian blacks to slip between them unnoticed.

“To some, yes. To those who know him better,” the man offered a small gesture to Noct’s own costume— chosen in pride of his own kingdom and defiance of the Imperial invitation; “still a prince.”

“He was always a brat,” Noct muttered, leaning back against the barrier to the canals below. To the chaos and revelry still ringing below. 

“He says the same thing about you. Often.”

Noct didn’t bother to hide the smirk at that, eyes landing on the sure, stiff way Ravus moved through the crowd of old politicians. He could see the tension from his vantage point in the line of the other man’s back and the way his head was held. In the way his hand flexed and itched for a sword that wasn’t at his side. “Do I know you, then?”

“Perhaps. I was Lady Lunafreya’s companion when you met me.”

It took a moment to think. To shift through the memories still mostly lost to the haze of pain and fear, and shifted focus away from the pleasant thoughts of his old friend. He remembered those green eyes, and the clever, careful boy who had taken a liking to him; “Ignis?”

“At your service, your highness.” Noct remembered that smile, that quiet pleased look. Now that he could recall, he remembered how the other boy had been a constant friend while he was there, ill and injured as the Oracle tried to heal him. He remembered Luna’s convictions and kindness, but Ignis’ compassions. “I would bow, but I fear that may show favouritism.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Noct turned to Ignis to look him over again— properly, now that he knew who the boy behind the mask was. “What are you doing here?”

“As I said, accompanying Ravus as his adviser.”

“Really?”

“I’m afraid so.” 

“Then why are you talking to me if you’re so in deep with those bastards up there?”

“Better company?” Ignis offered a slight tilt of his head in acknowledgement of Gladio watching them both from his better vantage point, from his shadows. “Though I would like to speak with you alone before you leave.”

“We can talk now—”

“No, your highness, I would prefer a less crowded meeting.”

“Okay? Fine. I’m at the Leville.”

Another small gesture of acknowledgement and Noct realised that there were other eyes on them now— that there were tacticians and politicians watching as the music played on as a festive backdrop to the intrigue. He was aware that Gladio was coming closer, as Ignis did bow now; formal and proper, and with a small cheeky smile in the face of disapproval from his masters. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

As Ignis stepped back into the crowd, returning to Ravus’ side with the ease of a practised servant, Gladio took his place by Noct’s side. 

“Who was that?”

“A friend from Tenebrae.”

“You have a friend?”

“Shut up,” Noct let himself smirk at the familiar barb, let himself lurch forward as Gladio slapped his shoulder and prodded him away from the party. “He’s coming by the hotel tomorrow.”

“Are you sure about this?”

There were spies in Altissia. They had been warned, prepared. Given instructions in the shadow of the Citadel to keep contacts to a minimum, to speak with only the one person Regis trusted in the entire city if they needed to. That the Nifs would have a network to watch them, to follow them, to search for an informant who had been slipping secrets through the borders.

“He has more to lose than I do, he just wanted to talk.”

“Right.”

Around them, the party rose again— the music covering the plaza as the dancers recovered from their last pause. He could feel the eyes still on him, warded off by Gladio’s more solid presence at his back, by the power of his bloodline still singing beneath his skin. Around them, as they made their way from the main plaza, the city lights changed— the colours brightened, the shadows lengthened, and every corner they passed seemed occupied by an amorous couple looking for a moment alone. 

“Dad said there was a friend in Altissia,” the hotel was still quiet and empty, with its guests milling about the crowded streets and into the overfilled plazas. The lights for the festival dimmed with the setting of the romantic hotel, with the air of decadence and indulgence unique to the Leville; a shield of subdued quiet despite the noise just beyond the lobby doors. Noct ruffled his hair as he loosened the mask until he could pull it away properly. “Someone he trusted to pass information from the Empire. Who might try to get in touch with us.”

“Weskham,” Gladio supplied, phone out and checking the flurry of messages he had missed while at the party. “Who said his source was in town. And no, you’re not playing this game.”

“It’s not a game.”

“Exactly, it’s not. Spies and sneaking around is not my style. And you’re just too bad at it.”

“I am not.”

Gladio could barely keep himself from rolling his eyes, as he ushered Noct through the hotel lobby and up the steps to the royal suite they had booked. He had his own orders concerning the little game that was still being played, despite the imagined codes and phrases and adventures Noct could dream up. “You have a terrible poker face.”

“I do not.”

“The answer is still no.”

“Wesky runs a bar. We can make an excuse to go to a bar tonight.”

“No.”

“When did you stop being fun?”

A push to Noct’s shoulder had him grinning as he stumbled through the room door. “When you started getting dumb ideas. Come on, I have to report in, and I’m not telling my dad, who will tell your dad, that you want to pretend you’re a spy.”

“I’d be a great spy.”

“Everyone knows who you are.”

“That’s beside the point.” 

Back in the sanctuary of the private room, with the most discrete, protective staff in the city still manning the desk, Noct fell into the bed. Outside, the lights from the main plaza and the strip of shops was a distant blur over the water, the view of the bay and port filling the wide windows instead. The softness of the room dulling the harsh cacophony of noise outside, even as the windows rattled during the more exuberant beats carried across the waters and night air; the dim lights almost a candle compared to the harsh city lighting created especially to light the festival, to guide dancers and fill the sky with the illusion of firelight for a few hours more. Noct could relax in the peace of the room, even as Gladio shoved his feet off the bedding. 

“Who was that friend of yours anyway?”

“I told you.”

“Yeah, buddy from Tenebrae. He got a name?”

“Ignis.”

“You used to talk about him.”

“Yeah.”

“I used to think you had a crush on him.”

“Shut up.”


	3. Injury and Insult

Morning came and went in the quiet of the hotel. The heavy curtains drawn across the windows sometime between fireworks and sleep. Before the city shut off every light to let those still coherent in the plazas marvel at the stars on the mirror surface of their isolated little bay. And now the city slept for as long as it could, with the roll of tides and waves and cries of gulls almost ghostly silent compared to the noise of the night before. Gladio enjoyed the peace for what it was, knowing that they had a set launch time at the docks, and that he would need to drag Noctis from bed soon enough. He had his coffee and his book for now, stretched out on one of the sofas in the little seating area meant to entertain the guests of whatever wealthy patron stayed in the room. 

He had been settled since daybreak, tempted to run laps on the deserted docks before the markets caught up to the rest of the world, before the citizens of the city shook themselves from the misery of a night spent drinking and surrounded by loud music. He had spent most of the morning responding to worried texts from the Citadel— confirming their departure time, their room information, the quiet and ease of the morning. 

After a quick report to his father to reassure the man that Noct was still sleeping, that the boat had been checked, that their arrival in Galdin Quay had been confirmed, he had settled down to read. And wait out the rest of these few quiet moments. 

He realised too late that he should have suspected something was wrong when his father texted him to have Noct awake and ready to go before noon. When he his phone buzzed as he threw the last of their things together and all he could read was: 

_Get him out of there._

He responded to the knock to the door with a sword in his hand. 

“Who the hell are you?”

The man before him was clutching a satchel; a canvas bag that looked like it had survived half the war already. He was dishevelled and breathing hard, bleeding from bullet grazes and razor thin swipes of a sword. He could barely stand, and Gladio recognised too late that the injuries he could see now were minor compared to what had the man nearly slumped against the doorway. “I need to see Prince Noctis.”

“Not before you tell me who you are.”

“Ignis Scientia. I was promised safe passage to Lucis.”

“What?” Gladio dragged the man— Ignis— into the room before the other guests could notice him. Before attention could be drawn to them out in any kind of conflict. “What the hell is going on?”

“I’m—”

“Ignis?” Noctis had woken, technically, an hour ago, when Gladio had pulled the blankets from him and opened the curtains to let the jarring daylight in. He had managed, barely, to dress enough for the trip home, and stumbled out in a sleep-haze when the knock on the door caught his attention. 

“Forgive my appearance, your highness,” Ignis managed, staggered as Gladio shoved him towards the sofa he had just left. 

“Noct, clean him up;” came the order as Gladio retrieved his phone to call his father for orders, “we leave as soon as I get my orders.”

There was no chance to argue as Noct helped Ignis up and to the bathroom; he reached for the satchel to set it aside, but Ignis caught his wrist and shook his head to keep it close. “Apologies, your highness, but I’d rather keep it in my sights.”

“Right,” setting the man down to balance on the edge of the tub, the satchel was removed only when necessary to see just what sort of injuries he was meant to be cleaning up. Running warm water in the sink, Noct hissed in a sympathetic breath as Ignis removed his shirt to let him see the worst of it. There was nothing severe enough to concern either of them, but the mottled bruising across Ignis’ ribs and side had only just started to blossom. “What the hell happened?”

“I fear I had to rush out from the First Secretary’s estate with less care than normal.”

“So you really are the spy we were told about?” Noct knelt with a damp, soft cloth from the rolls of fresh towels that had been stocked the night before. The streaks of blood here and there— the defencive wounds— were all from shallow, harmless grazes. He counted Ignis lucky. 

“After a manner,” as he took the cloth from Noct to finish up himself, the prince took the moment to look his old friend— one he had thought lost to the rage and fires of the Empire twelve years ago— over. 

He was at a loss as he watched the other man— this familiar stranger— cleaning himself up where he could. They only needed to make him presentable enough to slip from the hotel to the boat moored at the other side of the docks. They just needed to slip through the controls the Nifs held on the city without drawing attention, without sacrificing the peace of the civilians. But Noct could barely see the boy he had once known; Ignis was tall, collected, stiff despite the dishevelled appearance and blood. The shape of his face, the kindness and concern in his eyes, the quirk of his lips… It was all as familiar as the ravaged memories of Tenebrae itself. 

Outside the small bathroom, he could hear Gladio finishing his call. Beyond that, he could hear the frenzy start in the streets. The windows rattled as a Nif carrier passed overhead, towards the hills that blocked the city into the bay. The red of the engine lights flashed briefly against the pristine bathroom through the high arches of the windows. Noct pulled the curtains closed. 

“Your highness, I—”

“Never thought I’d see you again, Ignis,” Noct paused and reclaimed the soiled cloth. Gladio’s bag was just outside the door and Noct pulled a grey hoodie from the mess of clothes; “Iggy.”

Ignis floundered at the old nickname as he accepted the clothing, satchel secured between his ankles as he pulled it on and discarded the torn shirt he had arrived in. He offered Noct a smile, grateful and relaxed, the hard line of his shoulders easing as the tension started to seep out. “I thought you would have forgotten me by now.”

“My memory isn’t that bad.”

“You used to have me repeat the same story multiple times.”

“Because I liked the story, not because I forgot it!” Balling up the ruined shirt, Noct straightened as much as he could. He wanted to reassure, promise safety; but another Nif carrier passed over the city and he set his jaw. “I’ll get you out of here. I’ll take care of this.”

“I’m in your debt.”

“You’re a friend,” Gladio said from the doorway, phone tucking into his pocket as he looked them both over. It was a clear, simple assessment, issued a thousand miles away from the heart of Lucis, and likely backed with promises of explanation and gratitude if not simple reminders of duty and honours. “We move in five minutes. The boat—”

Another knock on the door, and Gladio’s sword was summoned to hand. Noct dismissed it into the shatter of crystalline light and hurried to hide Ignis in the bathroom; “Keep them out of the bathroom if they insist.” 

The grumble was lost in the fury of another demanding knock to the door, echoed across the other rooms in the hotel. The uniform thunder of rhythmic pounding by armour-clad, mechanical fists was a different noise to the more civil knocking on his own door. But Noct still let his sword hover, ready to break through its crystalline barrier and into his hand if needed. 

“High Commander,” Noct leaned on the door as he opened it, blocking the easy access the MTs flanking the Tenebrean monarch had expected to have. Behind him, Gladio let his balance shift, a casual lean against the bathroom door. He let every ounce of unimpressed petulance seep into his expression as he looked the intruders over, the other guests already inching around their own doors to see what the fuss was once the MTs had left them. “Need something? Or just bothering people?”

There was a satisfaction in seeing the older man bristle, in watching Ravus’ indignity at his own station be riled to the surface until years of pride and military training quashed it back. Whatever pleasantries had been planned clearly died on Ravus’ lips and he held out an identification tag issued to personnel of the Niflheim military. “Have you seen this man, your highness?”

“No.”

“You could at least look at the picture.”

“I’ve been in here all day, how could I have seen anyone?”

“You were speaking with him last night.”

“Are you suggesting that the Crown Prince of Lucis is in the habit of taking men met at masked parties back to his hotel room?”

Whatever Ravus wanted to say to that was bitten back as he clenched his jaw and fought an urge Noct could see all to plainly on his features. Noct was not so restrained, and he simply offered a smirk in the face of frustration, summoning his sword when one of the MTs took the initiative to try to push past him and into the room for whatever search they had been told to perform. Behind him, Noct could hear Gladio’s heavy step as he prepared for a fight— the drag of boot on the carpet and the heavy fall of a great sword at ease by his side, thudding against the floor in warning.

Ravus stopped the soldier with his own sword in its gut; “You may not like it, your highness, but I have the right to search for a traitor. Even in your rooms.”

“No, you don’t;” Noct dismissed his weapon. “And you can’t stop me from leaving. Accordo is neutral territory and Lucian waters are out of your jurisdiction.”

“You are a guest in a Niflheim province.”

He was smaller, Noct knew that. He didn’t have the stature to intimidate, or the temperament for it. He couldn’t straighten to a head taller than any foe like Gladio, or stare down enemies like Cor. But he had his father’s air, and it crackled around him with a divine power not granted to the other royals of Eos, despite the gifts of their bloodlines. What few Royal Arms he had collected so far shone in the light as they circled him, waiting for a choice to be made. And he met Ravus’ glare with a threat of his own. 

“I am not a subject of Niflheim, and you have no say in what I do or allow here. Now get out. Unless you want to be dragging yourself back to your masters.”

To his credit, Ravus barely acknowledged the real power behind Noct. He didn’t track the slow arch of the phantom weapons, or the way the light bent around them and revealed the honed edges as they waited for their master’s hand. Instead he took a deep breath and stared the prince down, looking for a crack in the rebellion, some semblance of the scared, accommodating boy he had once known. He didn’t know if he should be proud at the absolute conviction to his threat that Noct maintained, or frustrated that this little brat of a prince could ruin his reputation with the right movement now in front of the guests still caught between cowardice and curiosity in the halls. He waved the garrison he had brought on the search back and turned on his heel to leave. 

“You have ten minutes to leave the city, your highness. Or you may just need more than your father’s magic tricks to keep me from my duty.”

The weapons vanished in a shatter of crystalline light and Noct slammed the door as Ravus stalked back down to the street. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”


	4. Reassurances

“Keep your eyes open,” Gladio warned as he shouldered the bulk of their bags. They could sort out the mess of it later, when they’ve got free from the constant watch of the Nif territory. When the carriers weren’t overhead, and the patrols of MTs weren’t attempting to move through the city walkways, with a metal-clad robotic sentry stationed at the arch of every bridge. 

The strip of market space from the hotel across through to the docks where the boat was moored was practically empty despite the hour. The merchants were still present, their wares moved slowly with the few people oblivious to the threat of military chaos but unnerved by the air that had fallen over Altissia; the restaurants and cafes still open and bustling, despite patrons gathered away from windows, save for the few older men and women who had seen the wars before, who had watched Altissia fall to Nif control despite the position of neutrality it tried to keep. The old soldiers now sat themselves by windows and doors, watching the pattern of patrols stalking through the still decorated streets. 

Ignis had moved ahead of them, his narrow figure hidden in the bulk of Gladio’s hoodie, his features masked by the shadow of the soft fabric. He had hurried past the shopfronts and sprawl of empty tables meant to draw in the tourists coming to and from the docks. His satchel pressed against his back and obscured by the garment bags Noct had given him to carry as he confirmed the boat they needed to get to. 

Noct could see him now, paused at the border control, the line to leave the city checked by the armed MTs. They had no documents for Ignis, no false papers to sneak him through, to push him past the worst of the security. But they had Noct, and Lucian garb, and Gladio in his own full uniform as if it was an every day occurrence for a man in formal military dress to follow the Crown Prince of Lucis, carrying his luggage. 

They used the attention. 

Noct smiled to the few civilians— tourists and residents alike— who approached him as Ignis moved ahead. He paused and let the pictures be taken, shared a few words with those who wanted to say they had spoken to the visiting prince. He grit his teeth and turned up every ounce of diplomatic charm he had been taught for the press back home to give Ignis a few moments longer to get ahead. 

He ignored Gladio’s smirk throughout the ordeal. 

“This is serious,” Noct hissed when a Lucian tourist moved on to a cafe to gush to her friends about the selfie she now had with her prince. “Stop smiling.”

“Of course its serious. This part is just funny,” Gladio muttered back, one hand free in case there was trouble. 

“I hate you.”

“Not as much as you hate this.”

Another few steps, another moment of recognition and polite indulgence of an eager resident of Altissia. It had been easier to move unnoticed when the short length of platform was packed with people— no one caring for another pair of young men moving through the flow of traffic. Now, with hardly anyone out in any great number, Noct was instantly recognised. He was an instant magnet for attention for those who knew he was meant to be in the city at all. And every new exclamation of ‘your highness!’ from someone wanting royal attention drew the gaze of the MTs. 

Until the gate ahead. Until they realised that they didn’t have the documents for a third person. That there were no records of this third person when they passed through the first time. 

Ignis waited for them, fingers tapping against his leg as he worked the problem. 

“There you are!” a voice from the crowd of waiting relatives— those welcoming visitors and those seeing off tourists— caused a few heads to turn, and the MTs on duty shifted towards the voice just as Ignis did. “I’m glad I caught you, boy.”

Noct relaxed as Weskham came towards them with a sure, steady pace. He pulled Noct into a hug, slipped the thin book he was holding into the prince’s hands. “Wesky?”

They had never managed to get to the Maagho during the stay, but Weskham had visited the hotel, had made a scandalous appearance during the party— all smiles and cheek and collected confidence as he raised eyebrows among the Imperial supporters. He had never hugged Noct like this, never showed the open affection he was showing now. 

“Give my regards to your father, little prince. It was a pleasure having you in our city.”

Noct smiled; “Thanks, I will.”

“And you, my boy,” Weskham turned to Ignis, hand on the younger man’s shoulder though his face still obscured by the hood. “You had better do me proud in those kitchens. I don’t want to hear that you’ve butchered my good name as a chef.”

“Of course, sir.”

To his credit, Ignis seemed to make himself smaller, more humble, less confident before the stature of the man who had shown open affection and familiarity to the Prince of Lucis. And when the attention shifted, and the whispers started among the crowd, Noct managed to slip the papers from the thin book in his hand free. He didn’t let himself glance at them as Weskham worked, as he ushered them to the surprised border agent still intimidated by the Nif officials struggling to leave before whatever scandal had caught the city could implicate them. As easily as he came, Weskham slipped back into the crowd with the excuse that the bar needed to be cleaned after the events from the night before. 

The agents barely glanced at the documents, their papers stamped and handed back together; the MTs attention watching the known troublemaker and Lucian supporter disappear back into the narrow streets bordering the canals. 

It wasn’t until they were free of the city and out to the open waters— Accordo vibrant and green behind them— that they let themselves rest. Gladio had their skipper— a Glaive recruited by Clarus before they left the Citadel— radio their report home through official channels, and then called his father to let him know the real updates. 

The bags and clothing were dropped in a pile in the cabin, and Noct wasted no time in claiming the bed again. “That was horrible.”

“Still think you can be a spy?” Gladio asked as he waited for his father to pick up, ducking out of the room once connected. All Noct could hear after that was; “yeah, his highness was just whining about being a spy.”

“You did wonderfully,” Ignis said, balanced on the edge of the bed. Satchel dropped in plain sight at the little table and chairs secured to the cabin floor, he eased the hoodie off to examine his injuries in better light. The bruise that had just been forming earlier was still only just red, the bandages cobbled together from hotel bedsheets and a meagre first aid supply kit was barely holding together, and Noct practically jumped at the quiet hiss from Ignis as he tested the sensitivity. 

“Shit, I forgot.” With the roll of the ship on the waves, Noct barely managed to keep his feet beneath him as he rushed to retrieve the better stocked supplies. 

“I’m fine, your highness,” Ignis accepted the kit as it was offered, and tried to shoo Noct’s worried hands away as he pulled away the soiled bandages. “I can manage.”

“Not like that, you can’t;” Gladio said when he returned to find Noct hovering nervously until shoved back to the head of the bed while Gladio took over. “Let me see what’s going on. When were you hurt?”

“Early this morning;” Ignis didn’t try to shoo off Gladio the same way he had Noct. Instead he ignored the pulse of pain with each touch and press and push as Gladio assessed him. “I was interrupted in my work.”

“Got sloppy then.”

“Hardly.”

“Don’t get snippy. You didn’t get to us until almost noon.”

“I was sheltered for a time.”

Ignis couldn’t bite back the startled pain as Gladio pressed on one of the thin cuts clearly made by a blade. Noct jumped forward, a lurch of the boat sending him crashing against Gladio instead of just moving to push him away from Ignis. “Hey!”

“You’re not the actual source, are you?” Gladio pushed Noct off of him. “You’re the middle-man.”

“I’m an informant,” Ignis was on his feet, eyes narrowed, hands balling into fists despite the blood; “and I was—”

“Promised safe passage. Yeah, I know. But I have a right to know who I brought onto this ship.”

“You mean who I brought here,” Noctis interrupted, putting himself between the two taller men. A hand on Gladio’s chest forced him back, and a soft push to Ignis’ shoulders had him seated on the edge of the bed again. “Back off, Gladio.”

With a huff, Ignis returned to bandaging his own injuries as needed. The antiseptic smell of the packaged wipes filled the cabin, and Gladio took a seat by the little table with a glare and a ruffle of Noct’s hair. The tense silence broken only when the wind picked up and the boat lurched again on the choppy waters. “You’ve changed course.”

“We’re not going to Galdin Quay,” Gladio supplied, shrugging under Noct’s look. The call had been made by Clarus, and the little boat was too easy to spot in the port town. They all knew it. The Wall and th fortifications around the city needed to remain intact despite the ease of just a day or two a diverted course up to the Insomnia ports. “Cape Caem is quieter. The Marshal should meet us there a day after we get in and will give us a ride home.”

“Caem… I didn’t think there was anything there,” Noct said; “just the old vacation house. I think Cor still goes there when he’s out of the city.”

“The Empire is barely aware that there is a house there at all,” Ignis offered, the last off the bandages secured and the kit handed back to Noct to put away. “But they will assume that you would turn straight to Insomnia and the King’s protection.”

A nod from Gladio and he drummed his fingers on the table; “They’ll be looking as close as they can to that side of the map. We’ll take the long way around. Try to get some rest before we get there.”

With a pat to his shoulder, Noct relinquished the bed to Ignis and followed Gladio out of the cabin. The seas ha turned grey since they left the warmer, calmer waters of Accordo. Winds whipped up across the steep cliffs of Lucis and across the rocky shores mingled with the chill of the ocean air and the dark clouds that threatened rain above them was enough cover for the rest of the trip. Gladio, on deck, pointed out the pinnacle of the lighthouse that masked the covered docks they were aiming towards. The empty shoreline and green cliffs were a welcome, distant sight against the dark of the clouds and the distant red shine of Nif engines in the distance behind them over the curves of the Accordo islands. 

They watched the shore, until it started to rain, until Noct started to shiver and Gladio shoved him below deck with the order to behave himself. 

It would be a few hours yet before they could rest on relatively dry land. 

“Your highness,” Ignis said from the cabin’s bed as Noct entered and started to dig through the bags. “Do you wish to rest? I could take the other bed.”

“No no, I got it. You need to take it easy.”

“I insist.”

“Tough.”

“Your highness—”

“You can call me Noct, you know. We were friends, right?” Noct paused, dry t-shirt in hand as he watched the small smile and quick nod from Ignis. He pulled off the rain-damp shirt and smirked at the small victory. 

“Very well, Noct. But I still insist.” Dry shirt abandoned on a chair with a roll of his eyes, Noct climbed into the bed next to Ignis and pushed the other man back to relax. The bed itself was big enough for the two of them, soft enough to be comfortable despite the roll of the waves and the unsettling push of the winds against the hull. Ignis hesitated before he shifted to give Noct more space on the covers. “I’m not sure this is the appropriate response, you know.”

“Probably not.”

“You have definitely grown confident.”

“I’m just too tired to care right now, Iggy. You need to rest, and I want a nap.”

The shared a small smile, and Ignis let himself relax. All too aware of the minimal space between them, he closed his eyes, glasses already folded neatly on the bedside table. The weight of the threat was not gone— would likely not be gone until they were well behind the Lucian Wall and within the protections of King Regis— but it was eased, and Ignis could let himself rest for now with the reminder that his childhood friend was safe again. He had loved the forest home in Tenebrae, had jumped at the chance to turn his attentions from Lunafreya’s side as a mere companion to look after Ravus in the capital city (with Luna’s insistence to guide him) and take up learning about the strenths of the Imperial army. 

With those strengths, he learnt the weaknesses. And the Empire had loosened its hold on the provinces enough for him to slip messages and information through to Lucian eyes and ears. 

There had been weeks stationed back home, at Luna’s side, as she smiled over the red notebook filled with stories of the Crown City and a prince they both remembered fondly. There had been weeks of reading Noct’s messy writings and helping Luna affix the little gifts he sent with Umbra here and there— stickers, treats, pictures to go with the words spilt across pages. 

“Iggy?”

“Yes, Noct?”

“You ever think about me? When you were doing whatever it was that you did with the Nifs being dicks?”

Ignis smiled, aware of Noct’s eyes on him, aware of the quiet and the space between them. He had years of thinking of the young boy he had bonded with, whose words he read with Luna, whose little gifts were never addressed to him, but he held close all the same. “I could ask the same of you.”

“Of course I did.”

He didn’t want to encroach, to overstep whatever bounds there were between them still. He was still— Ignis assumed— a potential enemy, until confirmed otherwise. A potential threat, until there was undeniable proof that he was an ally. Until Noct was beyond the reach of any enemy, and he was beyond questioning. But he slipped his hand into Noct’s all the same, and reassured the prince with a gentle squeeze. 

“I thought of you often, Noct.”


	5. Dark Houses

Caem may have been in another world for its isolation and quiet appearance. The house that stood atop the hill— the front for the ancient wartime base Noct only really knew from stories— had always been rundown for as long as Noct could remember. There were pictures in his father’s study and in the library of it in better days, but for the most part in the same ragged state it was now. It had, regardless of its state, featured prominently in several stories— from his father’s own to the ones Cor used to tell him when he returned from long trips out past the Wall. He knew that the base was still mostly functioning, and that the power cables and lights lining the road were not just for show. Cor tended to keep the pantry stocked, allowed hunters to use the area as needed so long as they replaced whatever was taken and did a clean sweep of the shadows. Some Crownsguard stopped at the place regularly at Clarus’ order to ensure that the beasts hadn’t encroached too deep into the unsealed base beneath or that the house was at least still standing. But all of that was infrequent enough to still let the place fall into a sort of disarray. 

Even in the pictures Noct knew the place from, the house and its cape— marked by the spire of the lighthouse— had always felt abandoned. Empty and alone and hours’ worth of travel to even an outpost for supplies. With the forest on one side and the steep cliffs on the other, he always assumed that it would feel like one of the haunted houses in the old stories Gladio used to tell him when they went out camping. 

But taking the elevator up from the hidden dock, Noct could breath deep in the calm, cold air. The wet grass and the salt of the ocean refreshing him rather than making him examine every dark shape and shadow. They had waited until it was nearly dawn before they landed, risking the rocky shores in the dark. When the rain cleared out on the open water, the red lights of the Nif ships had started to move overhead along the coast, skirting the edge of Lucis land in their search. They coasted to the isolated pier, inching closer while keeping watch for the carriers that could spot them, disembarking as a red engine flared past in the night.

“They won’t think to stop here,” Ignis assured them as they left the shadow of the lighthouse and its beacon. “There is no record of anything other than an old vacation cottage here. The Empire believes it to be long abandoned.”

“Good,” Gladio was the first to head towards the house, letting the Glaive that had handled the boat radio their coded arrival to the Citadel. “Orders are we wait for the Marshal, now.” 

The stone steps to the overgrown pathway were cracked and wet from the rain, their steps muffled in the dark as they crossed the grass and empty gardens to reach the house. It wasn’t much other than a hulking shadow in the night, framed by cliffs and trees and the look of neglect. But once they were inside, it was cosy and dry, if a bit dusty. The roof had been repaired years ago, the upkeep broken up by long absences, but the home was never left to total ruin. The lights flickered to life after a moment of hesitation, and the stairs creaked as they decided to stay close together. They dropped their bags in the dust by the door, save for Ignis’ satchel, and settled on the long room that seemed most livable at a glance.

Sleep was not coming after the long trip, after the rest they had on the ship. It couldn’t break through the dull aches and worry and the low rumble of distant beasts and daemons skulking the forest and roads where the havens of light strung across the kingdom could not reach. Gladio eventually crashed after sorting out the nearly ancient coffee maker in the small kitchen; he sprawled out on one of the beds in the rooms upstairs, mug abandoned on the bedside table and phone in hand to wake him with any news or messages or orders. 

Noct had found the potion stash left by the hunters, and the schedule for the woman who handled a supply shop out of the back of her truck. He made a note on his phone as he set the potions on the table and cracked a few open into a bowl that they had wiped free of dust. Ignis sipped at a coffee as he let Noct tend to the injuries properly. 

“So why a spy?” The lights above them flickered and the house creaked in the dark. Old boards settled and whatever vermin were still making homes beneath the floors had been disturbed by them. “You used to be Luna’s companion.”

“I was,” Ignis answered, barely managing to keep himself from shivering in the cold night air seeping in through the old walls. The furnace had been turned on as they came in, Gladio checking for blown fuses or issues that might keep them from having heat or water before he let them settle. But it was still cold, sitting in the dim light without a shirt, while Noct dabbed potion on the wounds he could see to prevent scarring. The magic laced through the Lucian potions warmed sore muscles as it wove its way through him. “I still am, officially.”

“But?”

“But I was of more use to Ravus.”

“Right.”

“Don’t give that look, Noct. Ravus is hardly some monster.”

“I don’t think he is.”

“But?” Ignis smiled into his coffee at the little shrug Noct offered in response. “In any case, I started passing along information because I promised to.”

“You did? Why?”

“Because Lucis was an ally far kinder than Niflheim was as a conquerer.”

“So you like Lucis more. That was it? That made you risk your life?”

“I liked you more, Noct.”

“What?”

A long draught of his drink bought Ignis more time to gather his thoughts. He could blame the slip on the adrenaline of the day, of the proximity of the prince, of the dull ache his injuries had become. He could say that he had meant something else— explain away the ideas easily enough, or leave them as they were. But he remembered a boy in Tenebrae he had grown fond of, and the words in a little red notebook that had made his princess smile. He had spent years listening to the propaganda against the Lucian royals in Niflheim— of their cowardice and weakness, and he had only ever seen the strength in the footage and reports that filtered in from the siege lines around Insomnia.

He could have dismissed it as just a slip. As being tired or weak, or any number of other excuses. Instead he smiled and set the mug down on the old table between them. Instead he steadied himself and remembered the promises he had made in his more naive youth. 

“I liked you more, Noct. I stayed with Lady Lunafreya until she asked me to look after Ravus in Gralea. I read your words to her, helped her compose her responses to you. I watched Niflheim footage of you growing up in the Crown City, and I worried that you were becoming someone else than the boy I thought I knew so well. I watched you from the footage the spies in Insomnia recorded and handed over to scientists to study and pick apart.”

“Iggy—”

“No, I had made a promise to you when we were young.”

“Yeah,” Noct huffed out the word, returning to the task of dabbing the potion against the dark bruises blossoming against Ignis’ ribs. “To go on grand adventures and see the world, Iggy. The stuff kids come up with.”

“And,” Ignis continued; “I made the promise to the Lady Lunafreya to look after you where I could. To keep you from trouble when necessary.”

“What does spying have to do with that?” Noct sat back in the creaking chair, the shift of weight sounding the floorboards beneath. He wasn’t sure how he felt, as he watched the instant reaction to the potion, the warmth and magic easing the dark bruises until only the worst of it remained a stain on Ignis’ pale skin. 

“You would be surprised how often I was able to act to help keep you safe. And how much information that I passed along was with you in mind.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Noctis… I would like to keep my promise to you. From when we were young.”

“You mean seeing the world?”

“We started with Accordo, haven’t we?”

“Well, Altissia.”

“And now Caem.”

Noct smiled at that, deciding that it was better not to question the motivations behind Ignis risking his life for Lucis. For him, apparently. 

There had always been some understanding that there was a shadow game being played in the war. He had always understood that there was information being smuggled out to the hunters and Crownsguard and Lucis tacticians from the Niflheim lines. That there was some little network in place, always changing and moving and he had no idea how far it went or how deep their spies went. He realised that he had no idea how long Ignis had been doing these sorts of things— trading information for trust in Lucis. 

“I always thought you were in Tenebrae.”

“Gralea is far less interesting, I assure you.” Ignis took Noct’s hand in his own, “I have missed you, Noctis.”

“I missed you too.”


	6. Starlight

They would have days before Cor could meet them, before it was safe enough— the kingdom purged of unwanted eyes— to return home on the open roads. Another full day of driving if they just powered through and were okay with arriving at the Citadel in the dead of night. If they stopped for a rest, to stretch their legs, to get food, to take a breather and do more than just watch the landscape pass by, they would be on the road for longer. 

They had days at Cape Caem, isolated from the rest of the kingdom and all of its people waiting for news of the party and the prince’s safe return. The news broadcast across the radio, enhanced by the signals picked up through the old beacons of the lighthouse told the two very different stories. Lucis marvelled at the glamour and excitement of the night and festival— applauding the solemn, courtly appearance of the prince (”I was a freaking cat! How the hell is a masquerade dignified? Dad would have laughed himself sick at the whole thing if he could keep his mouth shut.”) and speculating about the delay in the return to the Crown City. Ignis had managed to tap into frequencies used for Niflheim’s propaganda, which had many of the same stories, with the addition of a quick quelling and culling of traitors in the ranks by the High Commander. 

The Glaive was sent back to Insomnia with a report and the boat, told to bypass Galdin Quay and go straight to the ports of the city. 

They had mornings down at the water, where they had found a pier for Noct to fish on, and for Ignis to wonder at the extent of the magic that flowed through the prince. 

“It’s better not to ask,” Gladio said as Noct settled at the end of the pier with the rod and tackle box he had manifested from whatever state of Astral holding the Crystal allowed him. The Shield content to recline on the warm stony shore with his book as he waited for Noct. “I’ve seen him keep plush toys in there when he was a kid.”

“I was nine!”

“Ten.”

“And here I was under the impression that the royal magics of the Lucian line were sacred manifestations…” Ignis offered as he dropped the clams and muscles pulled from the tide pools into one of the buckets brought from the house. “Would that fishing rod count as part of the royal Armiger then?”

Gladio smirked at the thought, deciding then and there that he liked Ignis. “If his highness has anything to say about it, it’s probably his Royal Arm.”

“Both of you shut up before you scare the fish away.”

There was sparring on the soft grass of the hill and in the confined, wild forest across the road. Gladio testing Ignis and his Imperial training, Noct learning that his speed and dexterity in close quarters was better than Gladio’s bulk and strength. There were matches between them, and Gladio watching on as Ignis worked on Noctis’ familiarity with daggers and short swords. 

If Ignis lingered on his correction of Noct’s grips, if Noct smiled and intentionally misstepped to bring them closer than necessary, Gladio didn’t comment. 

Hunters arrived one evening, when the laundry was being pulled from the ancient machine and dragged out to a line strung between tree and house. They arrived with supplies and smiles, messages from Cor and offers to drive them at least to Lestallum or Hammerhead. They left in the morning as Noct made his way to the pier to fish. Ignis a step behind as Gladio stayed at the house to give the hunters messages to Cor and Clarus if they could. 

They had dinner under the open sky most nights. 

Sitting at the edge of the cliffs, high above the crash of waves and with steaming bowls of stew between them. Ignis learning that Noct would steal meat from whoever left their bowl unattended long enough to argue a point or tell a story. They ate at the haven, with a roaring fire and crackling wood, and Noct showing off his ability to create spells and twist the magic of Lucis around him; Gladio roasting fish as Ignis sat with Noct’s hands in his own, tracing the faint crackle of spellwork and elements across Noct’s veins. 

When it rained, they stayed indoors; the house filled with their noise. 

It was raining when Ignis opened the satchel to spread what he had been protecting across the table. 

“This is all me?” Noct had asked when he shifted through the papers and labelled disks. Surveillance photos from the trip out to Altissia, from earlier trips beyond the Wall. 

“Every scrap of information they had collected on you,” Ignis said, separating the sticks filled with data they had no access to yet from the pages and pictures. “Every theory about your magic and the Crystal, every proposed experiment, every…”

Noct hadn’t seen Ignis pale like that since they fled the city on the water. 

“It’s everything they could have used to hurt you,” Ignis finished, gathering everything back into the satchel. “I couldn’t let them even consider it.”

“Altissia was a trap, then,” Gladio had meant to ask it— to get confirmation of what had him uneasy since they boarded the ferry. “They would have—”

“I stopped them. The civilians wouldn’t have stood for Noct being taken off the street in daylight.”

“And the Nifs couldn’t be sure that you didn’t warn me,” Noct nodded his understanding at the situation and their narrow escape. The wind howled across the hilltop, rattling the windows with the rain. “They didn’t want me fighting back if they tried something.”

“No,” Ignis smiled his reassurances, squeezing Noct’s shoulder as Gladio cleared his throat and tended to their dinner. “I delayed the order they had to move. To give me time to get to you, and warn Lucis.”

“I’m glad you came with us, Iggy.”

“You two lovebirds want beans for dinner?” Gladio tossed a can to Noct, unceremoniously shoved away from the kitchen by an offended prince while Ignis tried to piece together whatever dinner he could from the supplies they still had. 

They had only been at the house for a week before Cor arrived. He had called early in the day to say that he was bringing food from a diner and an hour away. He had spoken to Gladio to get an assessment of the situation, and Ignis to greet him. He spoke to Noct to make sure he was okay, that the prince was healthy and unharmed, and surviving in the rundown house at the edge of the world. 

The plan was made that they would leave at first light, that they would stop at Hammerhead for the night and get into the city and the Citadel the next day. The bridge past the Gate would be the longest part of the trip— passing through the Wall and then the dull expanse of bridge and its hours’ long stretch ahead of them. They would rest if needed, but stops were for food and to stretch; Cor was clear on that. 

Noct assured him that he’d want Prompto with him if they were stopping for chocobos anyway. 

That night, Noct climbed the lighthouse with Ignis while Cor trained with Gladio on the grass below. He wanted to watch the waves, and see the horizon get lost in the ocean, he said. Ignis followed him like a shadow. 

From their vantage point, they could see above the stretch of hills between Caem and Insomnia. They could see the glow of the city in the distance, bright and living against the dark sky. They could see the shimmer of the Wall— a distant, pulsing dome or living magic that once covered the whole kingdom. From their distance, they could only see the promising glow of it all. Noct told Ignis about it— the city life and the buildings. He talked about his apartment and the Citadel rising above the tallest buildings; of the districts and the freedom and the peace that seemed impenetrable. 

“I think this is quite peaceful,” Ignis mused, indicating the closer glow of Galdin Quay, barely visible for the rolling hills and this forests. He had tried to spot Lestallum earlier, but settled for the strange sight of the Rock of Ravatogh and the distant peaks of the meteor held by the Titan. “Though it’s a pity we can’t explore more of it.”

“We will. We’ll go out again,” Noct wanted to promise that with absolute certainty. The stretch of ocean just as tempting as the wilds around them. “It’ll be fun.”

“I would like to see Lucis with you.” Ignis smiled when he said it, rested his hand over Noct’s as he turned his eyes back to the glow of Insomnia. “What better guide than the land’s prince?”

“We can plan it later. When the dust settles and Dad stops worrying.”

Far below, they could see Gladio waving at them to get their attention, his great sword shining in the night. 

“Hey, Iggy,” Noct started as they got into the elevator to return to the house for the night; “You sure you’re okay with all of this? Coming to Lucis?”

“Of course, Noct.”

“And you’re okay with… this? With me?” He indicated their still joined hands, the warmth between the a better draw than the solitude of the night air. 

“Always, Noct. Always.”


End file.
